Sometimes Love Isn't Enough Page 3

  Andrea felt her heart pounding faster. What is happening to my parents? Her home? she wondered.

  “Well, have fun!” her father said sarcastically. Then Andrea heard someone stomp down the stairs and slam the front door. In a few minutes, she heard a car peel out of the driveway.

  Dad, she thought. Andrea was scared. Even though she’d heard her dad leave so many times after other fights only to return later, this time felt different. She didn’t know when she’d see her dad again. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she sobbed softly into her pillow.

  FIVE

  “Why didn’t you tell me your mom was working at the bank?” Terri asked Andrea as they walked toward the school bus stop. She sounded hurt.

  “What’s the big deal?” Andrea asked with a shrug. “She decided that with me in junior high and Timmy in his special school that she had nothing to do during the day. So, she got a job.” Andrea felt awkward. It was the truth—but not exactly the whole truth.

  “Well, you could have at least told me about it,” Terri said. Her tone grew agitated. They walked on in silence. “My mom was so surprised when she pulled up to the drive-in window and saw your mom there,” Terri added.

  “Let’s just drop it, okay?” Andrea asked curtly.

  “What do you do when you get home from school?” Terri probed.

  “My homework,” Andrea replied. “I start supper, too. Mom picks Timmy up about five-fifteen and then comes home. I help by setting the table, starting a casserole, you know, stuff like that.”

  Andrea secretly hated her family’s new schedule. She hated coming home to an empty house. The first few days she carefully checked all the rooms to make sure no burglars were hiding in them. She called her mom at the bank to report that she was home like her mom had instructed. Then she turned on the TV really loud and bravely hummed while trying to concentrate on her homework. After a week, she got used to the schedule. But she still didn’t like it.

  Her dad didn’t like the new schedule either. But no matter how much he complained about it, his wife refused to quit her job. At times the house seemed like a war camp to Andrea. She was torn. She was angry with her mother because she wouldn’t stay at home and angry with father because he made such a big deal out of it.

  The two girls boarded the school bus and rode silently amid the noise and chatter. Tony did not board the bus at his regular stop, and Andrea was relieved. She really was scared of him at times. And he made no bones about not liking her very much.

  She wished they didn’t have chorus together. Otherwise, it would have been a perfect class. Even though Ms. Vesper was her favorite teacher and she loved singing, Andrea was always wary that Tony had some prank up his sleeve that he was going to play on her. However, Andrea had heard Tony sing, and he was surprisingly good. His deep baritone voice carried the entire boys’ section.

  At school, Andrea said a quick good-bye to Terri and ran toward homeroom. She decided to stop by her locker before the tardy bell rang. She arrived, breathless, and began to fumble with her combination lock when she heard a deep voice behind her.

  “Well, if it isn’t ‘little Ms. Stuck-up,’” he said.

  Her hands froze on the lock, and her heart started pounding faster. It was Tony.

  Andrea got her book out of the locker, snapped the lock shut, and slowly turned around until she stared straight into Tony’s chest.

  “Excuse me,” she said, trying to step around him.

  He placed his hands flat against the locker on either side of her shoulders. She looked up to find him grinning down at her. She hoped she didn’t look as scared as she felt. The tardy bell sounded.

  “I said, ‘Excuse me,’” Andrea said again. “I’m late.”

  “So what?” he said, his face moving closer to hers. “You know,” he said in a low voice as he leaned in toward one side of her face, “if you weren’t so stuck-up you wouldn’t be half-bad.”

  Her heart pounded even faster. “You miss me on the bus?” he asked as he pulled back.

  “I hadn’t noticed you weren’t riding it,” she lied.

  “I take the city bus now,” he said. “The school bus driver and I agreed that we weren’t getting along.”

  “You mean she kicked you off!” Andrea blurted out, her eyes darting past him. The halls were deserted. Great, she thought. Alone with the scariest guy in school.

  “I never liked riding a school bus anyway,” he said with a grin.

  “Would you please let me go to my class?” she asked again, a little more urgently.

  He grinned wickedly at her. “Sure. Who’s stopping you?” he asked. But he didn’t move.

  She wasn’t sure if he was going to hit her or kiss her. She only knew that she wanted out of there. She quickly ducked down and tried to squeeze under his arm. But he leaned against her and pressed her back into the lockers. She felt tears of anger and fear rush to her eyes.

  “Leave me alone,” she said, her teeth clenched, hoping she wouldn’t burst out crying.

  His mouth was very close. “Sure,” he said abruptly and stepped back, putting his hands in air. “See you in chorus.” Then he turned and sauntered away, putting his hands in his jeans pockets.

  A rush of anger and hatred overcame her. Her hands shook as she fiercely wiped away a few stray tears. “I hate you, Tony Columbo!” she said aloud in the deserted hall. “I hate you!”

  Andrea saw her name posted on the bulletin board of the choral room and felt like shouting, “I made it!” She walked confidently to her seat and waited for class to begin. Meanwhile, a few of the girls congratulated her. She made show choir!

  Andrea smiled broadly. I can’t wait to rush home and tell Mom and Dad. With a start she realized that there would be no one at home to tell. Her mother would be too busy at her job to take more news than Andrea’s daily “I’m home safely” call. And her father was out of town for another two days.

  “It figures,” she told herself. “I made show choir and who cares?” Being thirteen isn’t all it is cracked up to be, she thought. Everyone always talks about how being thirteen is when kids start to become grown-ups. But what’s the big deal about being grown-up when grown-ups don’t have time for their kids or each other? I’d be better off being a little kid again. At least I’d have someone waiting for me at home—someone to talk to!

  “Boy, am I tired!” Andrea’s mother said with a big sigh as she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the sofa. “I didn’t realize tellers spent so much time on their feet,” she added.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Andrea said.

  Mrs. Manetti leaned into the sofa and closed her eyes. “Timmy!” she yelled. “Turn down the TV!”

  Timmy sat staring at the cartoon characters on the screen. But he didn’t move. “I said, ‘Turn it down!’” she yelled again. “Or I’ll turn it off!”

  Timmy began to wail and rock. But he didn’t turn down the volume. Suddenly, Mrs. Manetti leaped from the sofa and seized Timmy by his arm. “You listen to me, young man!” she yelled. “Stop that crying! Do you hear me? Stop it!”

  Andrea jumped forward and grabbed her brother. “I’ll take him upstairs and help him wash up for dinner,” she cried.

  Her mother glared. Then she flopped down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just wiped out. That’s all.”

  Andrea hustled Timmy up the stairs toward the bathroom. She felt like crying along with Timmy. Her mother was angrier than ever, and she was tired all the time. Is it going to be like this forever? she wondered. If the job is such a burden, why doesn’t she just quit? It would certainly make Dad happy. Why is a stupid job so important anyway?

  Later that week, Andrea lay in bed staring into the dark. Her parents had been fighting again. But unlike other times, they weren’t yelling. Instead, they were whispering in the hallway.

  Andrea crept out of her bed and eased toward the door. It wasn’t right, spying on them. She knew that. But she wanted to know what was going on between them. She opened the
door a crack and sat down on the floor and listened. Their voices were low and very serious.

  “I don’t see any other way,” her mom was saying. “This is no way to live. I want a divorce.”

  Divorce! The word hit Andrea like a stone. It was impossible! Her parents couldn’t get a divorce.

  “You’ve been planning this for a long time, haven’t you?” Her dad’s voice was low and accusing. “That’s why you got that job, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Her mom sighed heavily. “I got the job because I needed to get out. I was going crazy. I wanted to contribute and to feel I’m worth something.”

  “What about the kids?” he asked.

  Andrea’s heart froze. He was agreeing to the divorce! He wasn’t even arguing about it. He wanted it, too!

  “I’ll keep the kids,” she said. “They need as little change as possible. You’re always on the road anyway. You can have all the visitation rights you want.”

  “Thanks,” he said tersely. “So this is it. Fifteen years, and now it’s over.”

  “It is for me,” her mom said. “And if you’d just admit it, it’s been over for you, too.”

  Andrea couldn’t listen anymore. She crawled back to her bed and slid beneath the covers. She felt cold and numb. A divorce. Her parents were going to get a divorce. What is really going to happen to Timmy and me? she wondered, feeling scared.

  She remembered Timmy’s innocent blue eyes. Poor Timmy, she thought. Poor, poor Timmy. And then tears began to roll down her checks. It seemed her world was falling apart. And nobody cared, nobody at all.

  SIX

  “Andrea, would you please pass out the new music to everyone?” Ms. Vesper asked above the soft buzz of noise in the choral room.

  Andrea went down to the front of the room. She picked up the stack of music folders perched on the top of the upright piano. She balanced them carefully and started toward the baritone and tenor sections. As Andrea passed by the front row, she felt a tug and then a yank on the belt loop of her jeans. She was abruptly stopped, and the stack of music folders kept on going. Papers flew everywhere as the folders cascaded to the floor in a shower of thuds and rustling. Andrea gasped and tried to break free of the hold on her belt loop. The class whooped with wild laughter.

  “What is going on here?” Ms. Vesper demanded above the commotion.

  “I-I don’t know,” Andrea stammered. She scrambled to pick up the papers off the floor. “I guess I just lost my balance.” But she knew exactly what had happened. Tony Columbo had happened. It was his finger that had hooked her belt loop and caused her to drop all the folders. She glared at him. He smiled down at her and wiggled his fingers in a half-wave.

  “Well, I think I know what happened,” Ms. Vesper said grimly. “Tony, I want you to go see Mr. Grimes right now. You’ve disrupted this class for the last time!”

  “What’d I do?” Tony asked innocently. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Explain it to the assistant principal,” Ms. Vesper said, writing out a hall pass and handing it to Tony. “Now go!”

  Tony snatched the pass from her hand and stood defiantly for a few seconds. He shot Andrea an angry glance from the doorway and then left the room. For a moment, she felt bad that he’d been sent to the office. But it’s his own fault, she thought as she re-stacked the folders.

  After class was over, Ms. Vesper asked Andrea to stay for a few minutes. Andrea was nervous. Why does she want to see me? Andrea asked herself, waiting for the room to empty.

  “Sit down, Andrea,” the pretty, dark-haired teacher urged after they were alone in the room. There was a moment of awkward silence as the two of them sat facing each other. “Is anything wrong, Andrea?” Ms. Vesper asked sympathetically.

  Andrea’s heart pounded faster. “W-What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You’ve seemed pretty withdrawn this past week. I was wondering if anything was happening to cause you to change so much. If there is anything you’d like to talk about?” Ms. Vesper’s voice trailed.

  Andrea dropped her gaze and stared at her hands in her lap. Nothing much, except that my parents are talking about getting a divorce, she thought sadly. In her head, she replayed the conversation between her parents that she had overheard. Her dad had gone out of town on business again the very next day. So the talk about divorce was on hold. But Andrea was sure her parents would bring it up soon. How can I tell Ms. Vesper what was really wrong? How can I tell anyone?

  “Is it—is it Tony?” Ms. Vesper asked gently. “I know he harasses you a lot.”

  “Oh, no,” Andrea said quickly. “Tony’s a pain. But it’s not him. It’s nothing, really. Just some stuff on my mind.”

  “I hate to see a talented student like you not performing your best, Andrea,” Ms. Vesper continued. She paused. “If it is Tony, please ignore him. I don’t mean to excuse his behavior, but I think he’s had some rough times. He hides behind that ‘tough guy’ façade, you know,” she added. “He’s actually a fairly bright kid. And I think he’s got a good singing voice. He needs discipline, but understanding, too. Don’t let him get you down.”

  “It’s not Tony, really,” Andrea reassured her. “I’ll be fine. I promise.” Andrea eyed the clock on the wall and jumped to her feet “I’ve got to be going,” she said quickly. “I’ll miss my bus home.”

  “Of course,” Ms. Vesper said, smiling. “But I’m serious, Andrea,” she said gently. “If you ever want to talk about anything, please let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Andrea said, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “I will. I promise.” Then she turned and left the quiet choral room and hurried down the deserted halls and out the door toward her bus.

  “Do you think you could spend the night?” Terri asked as she and Andrea walked home from their bus stop in the cool air of the late November afternoon. “ We haven’t spent the night together since school started,” she reminded her friend.

  “I don’t think so,” Andrea said. “My dad’s coming in from a road trip tonight. I think I’d better be at home.”

  “Is anything wrong?” Terri asked.

  “Of course not,” Andrea said, forcing a smile. “I just don’t think my mom will let me. That’s all.”

  “Well, would you like to go shopping downtown tomorrow?” Terri asked. “We haven’t done that in a long time either.”

  Andrea hated to keep telling her best friend “no.” But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Terri all about her parents, either. “Why don’t I call you tomorrow morning after breakfast and let you know?” she offered.

  Terri shrugged, hugging her books to her chest. “All right,” she said. “We could eat downtown. I’ll treat,” she said.

  Andrea smiled. “Super! I’ll call you,” she said with some insincerity that she was sure Terri could sense. She hurried home and quickly unlocked the front door. The house felt huge and lonely around her. She still didn’t like coming home all alone.

  She put her things away in her room and went into the kitchen. She read her mother’s instructions for supper, started the chili, and began to set the table. Suddenly the loud ring of the phone made her jump. She quickly answered it.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Andi! Why didn’t you call me?” her mother snapped from the other end of the line.

  Andrea realized she’d been so preoccupied with her conversations with Ms. Vesper and Terri that she’d forgotten. “I-I’m sorry, Mom—” she began.

  “I worry when I don’t hear from you,” she stressed.

  “I said I was sorry,” Andrea responded.

  “Listen,” Mrs. Manetti added. “Your father’s coming home tonight. He’ll be tired. Please don’t make any plans for tomorrow. We want to talk to you.”

  Andrea’s heart began to race. “About what?” she asked.

  “We’ll tell you tomorrow,” her mom said evasively. “Just plan to stay at home. I’ve got to go now. I’ll be home around five-thirty. Bye.”

  As Andrea hung up the
phone, her hand was shaking. “I know what it’s about,” she said aloud. “I overheard you and Dad talking. You’re going to get a divorce . . .” her words vanished into the air. Once again, she felt scared and very much alone.

  Andrea and her parents sat at the table in the warm kitchen. Outside, the cold, gray morning blew dead, dried leaves against the house. The sound of Saturday morning cartoons came from the living room where Timmy sat in front of the TV set. Andrea sat rigid in her chair, trying not to let the impact of her father’s words make her cry.

  “We’re telling you, Andi,” he said softly. “And maybe you can help Timmy understand why I’m moving out.”

  They were getting a divorce. It was decided. No more pretend. It was a fact. Andrea tried to blink back her tears. She had hoped that it wouldn’t really happen. Now, there was no hope.

  “I want you and Timmy to stay with me,” her mom added. “That way nothing much will change for you two. You’ll still have your friends, school, house . . .”

  Funny, Andrea thought. It’s funny how all this time they were arguing so loudly over the smallest things, but when it comes down to breaking up our family, they both act so calm.

  “Why?” Andrea asked, holding back her tears. “Why can’t we still live together?”

  Her parents exchanged glances. “We explained that, sweetheart,” her dad said patiently. “It’s best this way.”

  “Best for you, you mean,” Andrea said, her voice cracking.

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “Best for all of us,” her mom said softly.

  “Whose fault is it?” Andrea asked as she stared past her parents at the window behind them.

  “Fault?” Mrs. Manetti asked. “It–it’s no one’s fault.”

  “Then if no one’s to blame, why do we have to do it?” Andrea quickly shifted her gaze toward her mother’s eyes.